Red Sails in the Sunset
by SteampunkStrawberry
Summary: Consoling isn't the ghoul's strong suit. So what's he suppose to do when the courier breaks?


_AN: So this idea recently came back to me while looking through an old old list of stuff I wrote, or planned on writing. I'm working on a bigger Fallout 3 (well, sorta) fic, but I had fun writing this :) Let me know what you think and review! Please and thank you. :)_

Again and again, the courier impaled the limp, lifeless body on the ground with full force. Both hands gripping the knife spear, she was on her knees now, suddenly coming into contact with the cobblestone street on each impact. Clang after clang, the mind-numbing adrenaline slowly wore off. With that, she leaned against the spear, her chest aching for breath.

"Alright.. alright partner, I don't think it's going to get up even if it wanted to." Dean remarked, with the usual sarcasm the courier was already tired of. He'd stood behind her the whole time, casually smoking a cigarette watching how imprudently she handled the ghost on her own, after he'd knocked it unconscious with his 9mm of course. She must've had her eyes shut the whole time, because when she opened them, she realized that the body of the Harvester had been lacerated beyond coming back to life, and that she managed to hack off a leg at the pelvis.

Staring at the mutilated corpse, the courier sat back on her heels, feeling burning tears well up in her eyes. She was exhausted, emotionally and physically. From the start she regretted letting her curiosity get the better of her, pushing her to follow the mysterious signal all the way to the bunker. She was a fool, and she knew it. She threw back her head and shut her eyes again, hoping to keep the tears at bay. She wasn't about to cry in front of the ghoul. She wanted to remain strong in front of him, even in their predicament. After a moment she opened her eyes again, only to see scarlet clouds sailing through the sunset colored sky.

"Well we better get a move on. I'm sure we've gotten the attention of the whole neighborhood, with all the _noise_ you were making." He held out a hand to help her up. They then walked through Puesta del Sol, the courier trudging alongside him without a word. Right as the gates to the southern end of the district closed behind them, she caught the sight of a sign, swaying slowly above a shut door rather secure looking for the area.

"Hey, you think that place'll be safe for the night?" She spoke up, gesturing straight ahead.

"Ahh the old cafe. I've only been in there once or twice before the bombs fell." He reminisced, but then shrugged. "Let us see, shall we?"

After briskly walking toward the door, Dean turned the door knob cautiously, with the courier right by his side. She just happened to glance right, where the villa street ran straight a few blocks. Her periphery caught the sight of two green circles of glowing light at the far end. After a moment, they began to bob this way and that, and she knew they were headed right in her direction. It sent a rush of adrenaline through her system and she pushed the ghoul out of her way, and bolted through the door, reluctantly pulling out her pistol. It was then that she felt her eyes brimming with tears again. She looked around, pricking up her ears, making sure there wasn't any more of them in there. She took note of the docile hologram behind the bar, and with the comforting silence, she took a seat in a red booth seat near the door.

An abrupt bang on the door took them both by surprise, but the courier, somehow expecting it, didn't flinch as hard as the ghoul did. The lack of reaction from her threw him off, but nonetheless, he had to appear sharp and reactive. He sprung into action with his pistol at the ready, leaning against the wall right beside the door. He cracked it open just enough to stick the barrel out, cursing under his breath at the sight. He then pumped a full clip of 9mm into the ghost's mask, sending it tumbling backward and to the ground. For good measure, he produced a grenade from his pocket and pulled out the pin with his still intact teeth, and gently tossed it through the door. And with that, he abruptly shut it behind him and leaned against it with a pant. Along with the short boom that let him sigh with relief, the satisfying sound of remains slapping against the other side of the door assured him he didn't have to open it again.

The courier couldn't stop the tears then, cascading down her cheeks in a hot stream as she lowered her head, allowing her hands to run along the velvety stubble that covered her head. The knot that had formed in her stomach even when she first arrived persisted to taunt her with the fact that she could quite possibly die there, still in the Villa. All she wanted to do was go back home, and sleep in her cozy motel room bed. She missed Boone. She missed Arcade, and she missed Veronica and Raul. Hell, she even missed Cassidy's drunken rants. But now, she knew she may never see them or the Mojave again. She mused the idea of bidding them all farewell, but who seriously had the time to write all those letters, let alone mail them herself in this ghost town?

Dean stood nearby and cleared his throat uncomfortably, trying not to look at her. He didn't know what to do. There she was, the new, easily replaceable pawn in Elijah's game, sitting there pitifully with tears streaming down her pale cheeks. Finding no way to avoid her, he finally let out a deep sigh and reluctantly turned around. He sat down heavily in the flimsy white chair on the opposite side of the table from her and lit another cigarette. She finally looked up at the ghoul, who was looking back at her expectantly, his mouth a thin, bitter line. She knew exactly what he was going to say. _Stop crying. It isn't helping anything._ She stared into his well kept, shiny sunglasses, at her pitiful reflection. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands, which to no surprise didn't stop the tears from streaming down them again, and he leaned back into his chair.

"I can't." The courier made out in a small voice, replying to his unspoken words.

"I know, but you won't be able to get into the casino with that sort of attitude."

"I don't want to." Her voice quivered. The ghoul cocked his head with furrowed brows, sitting up a bit, taken aback.

"Well of course you want to. You're here, are you not?"

But I was just—"

"Curious? Yeah, well that's what they all said. Listen partner, we get into the Sierra Madre, then you won't have to wear that necktie anymore, alright?" He thumped his cigarette in the conveniently place ashtray on the table that separated them. "Then you can go back to your little casino in Vegas. And who knows? Maybe I'll tag along after I'm through with the Madre." He assured her, right before putting the cigarette back to his cracked, mottled lips. She said nothing, as if he'd said nothing at all.

"Come on dear, it's almost—"

"I don't wanna be alone again. I'm scared, okay? I'm terrified of those ...things out there. If you hadn't been there, I don't know what I would've done, Dean." Her inhale stuttered. "When I take you to you're post, I'll be alone with the ghosts again." She said with a sniffle. Just to be in someone else's presence made all the difference out there. She'd already promised Christine she's be back for her, and she barely made it back to the fountain. On the flip side, the ghoul had to admit, it felt nice to be wanted. Maybe he could take it a step further.

"I don't know what to tell you partner." He took a puff of his cigarette, and shook his head.

"Dean..." She pled softly. Her bright blue eyes seemed to quiver, filling up with more tears. He just stared at her through his thick aviators; so helpless she looked, it actually made his heart ache. Something about her was so uncannily familiar to him, it seemed Vera always came to mind, but he refused to believe that the women in front of him reminded him of his former lover. She looked too much like the girl he threw in the Auto-Doc, with her shaved head and well, blue eyes, just like his beautiful little starlet. After a moment she laid her head down on her arms, breaking his stare, and killing his daydream.

With a sigh, Dean spun in his seat, about to stand but froze, eyes behind his sunglasses glued to something sitting upon the counter. What struck him odd was that their collars had remained cold, rigid weights on their necks ever since they rushed in. He rose with caution and hesitantly approached the counter, paying the hologram no acknowledgement. He then stood in front of the counter and stared at what ever it was, as if to confirm to himself what he was seeing, and hearing. The innocent looking radio sitting on the counter was playing music ever so quietly. He was astonished that he hadn't heard it until now and again, he noted how the collar didn't at all react to the radio. Out of sheer curiosity, he turned the volume knob carefully, just waiting to snap it back to where it was, or dart out the door, snagging the courier with him. But slowly, the music got louder and clearer, and his 'necktie' remained quiet and still. Soon it was audible enough for the courier behind him to hear, as her sharp gasp indicated.

"Don't.." he ordered immediately. "..shoot it." And older song, Swing Doors by Allan Grey had been playing, and soon was lifting the mood of the entire cafe. Dean felt a wave of nostalgia rush over him as he began to move his feet to the music, seeing how much he indeed remained the King of Swing.

"Are you sure..?" The courier asked with furrowed brows and a darting of her still teary eyes. Dean stopped mid step, and began to feel around his neck to the top of it head with his hands, as if making sure it was still intact.

"It appears so." He bit, then began to dance idly again, and the courier proceeded to lay her head down again.

"What a friendly radio, not wanting our heads to explode, just like the one at my cozy little boudoir." He remembered with a grin. His feet slowly lost their enthusiasm to move as his vision fell onto the courier, and he found himself unable to look away. He now just stood there, watching her hunched over shoulders quiver slightly as she silently sobbed, her face still resting in her arms. He'd felt that aching in his chest again. Now filled with guilt, he knew he needed to do something to raise her spirits, if that was even possible. He knew if she decided to give up on life and linger next to a radio or speaker too long, or not fight hard enough against the next ghost, or even deliberately reopen that scar between her eyebrows with a merciless bullet, he wouldn't get to revel in all the Madre's treasure that was ALL HIS, and laugh in the face of Sinclair's boney rotten corpse. He didn't know if the plan he'd just conjured in his head would work, but it was worth a try. What did he have to lose, minus his life?

He returned to dancing solo, waking up old memories of his heyday, now to another song that started to play, Jazzy Interlude by Billy Munn. Confident in his abilities, he twirled over to the still seated courier, and held out a hand.

"Let's dance."

Her head slowly rose, revealing an expression of troubled confusion and disbelief.

"Huh?" Was all she could say, caught off guard by the ghoul's out of the blue proposal. Was he really in the mood for dancing? She looked over his features for a moment, seeing how long he was just going to stand there. The sight of his dirty, worn bow tie crudely strapped to his bomb collar further made her believe that he was a tad insane. But before she could express her concern with words, he pulled her out of her seat and spun her around him. And without warning, he wrapped an arm around her slender waist and pulled her close into his arms, and gently held her face, wiping away her tears with his thumb.

"Please, stop crying. Who knows what'll happen if your tears drip onto your necktie?" She stood there with her arms resting against his tux, and she couldn't help but smile back with a quivering bottom lip, with his touch, along with that charming smile, practically extinguishing the tears. He spun her around again, and her face flushed a bright red as she just stood there awkwardly, Dean continuing to move his feet with the music.

"Well? Move your feet." He told her, and she did so, slowly and awkwardly, digging through her memories for any dance lessons she might have learned, but lost. The ghoul took both her hands and spun her around with him, pulling her to and fro. Holding Dean's hands, she scrutinized how his feet moved, swiftly, trying to learn as fast as she could. After giving it a try, her feet gradually began to move more rhythmically, and when she'd gotten more comfortable, she'd begun to shake her hips around with the music, something Dean thoroughly enjoyed with the few women he danced with. Vera Keyes found her way into Dean's thoughts again, but he immediately tossed her away, focusing only on the women in front of him. Pretty soon, the courier couldn't stop smiling and giggling with joy, and forgot, just for a moment, that her life was in danger. For a moment, she didn't see the collar on the ghoul's neck, or even felt her own.


End file.
